The Bargain
by Le1a Naberr1e
Summary: A collection of vignettes set in an AU where Queen Amidala lost Naboo to the Trade Federation.
1. Honourable Death

**Honourable Death**

Padmé felt the starfighter's crash as if she was the one in the cockpit. She felt the spiralling, nightmarish descent into the swamp forest, felt the impact against the tall perennials rip through the hull, pierce through the glass and impale her in her seat. She felt the seatbelt snap free as a particular branch cut through it, felt her body bounce out of the seat, through the cockpit and fly until it broke through the shrubs, to rest on the hard ground, metres from the vessel itself.

She felt the death come slowly.

"My lady!" Captain Panaka shouted as she broke cover, scrambling from her feet and running towards the speeders hidden within the tall shrubs. "My lady, this is foolhardy!"

She ignored him, already gunning the vessel and flying, not bothering to latch on her helmet.

She rode through the forest like a mad woman. Every breath that she swallowed in, swallowing the sobs of fear, was one more second that her handmaiden was dying, her life slipping away in slow, slow murder…

Behind her, she could hear Panaka's speeder follow.

The handmaiden's pain was a throbbing aching compass in her lungs that led Padmé unerringly to the small glade, where Eirtaé lay facedown in a twisted, broken heap. Padmé felt Eirtaé before she saw her friend.

The speeder came to a swift halt. The renegade Queen released her nerveless fingers from their iron-grip on the wheel, and slipped off the seat.

"Eirtaé," she whispered, her heart pounding. "Eirtaé…"

"M…My l..lady?" They were barely words. If Padmé was not so used to hearing them she won't have understood the mangled language that her friend spoke.

She fell to her knees beside Eirtaé, trying not to stare at the blood, at the strange angle of her legs beneath her torso, at the mat of blood covering honey-coloured hair. She touched Eirtaé's shoulder to reassure her, that yes, it was Padmé, not an enemy droid and Eirtaé screamed.

Padmé snatched her hand back. "I'm sorry." She would have nightmares of that scream for the rest of her life.

"N…no," Eirtaé whispered through what they would later realize must have been a broken jaw and a cut tongue. "I-I f-failed you."

Padmé's throat tightened. "No. No." Her right hand clenched helplessly by her side, as her left pounded the ground in frustration. She wished she could hold Eirtaé, at least turn her around, but she was afraid of hurting her.

"You did well, Eirtaé," she said instead, speaking as firmly and as cheerfully as the double loss would let her. "You did brilliantly."

"Th-they ex…ted us."

"Don't talk," Padmé said frantically. "Save your strength." But even as she said the words, she knew they were hollow. Even if they could somehow carry Eirtaé safely back to the camp, they simply did not have the medical facilities to mend her broken body.

Eirtaé fell silent. She knew the truth about her fate better than anyone else.

Let the tears come later, Padmé thought furiously as she held them back with vicious will. This moment, filled with only the sound of Eirtaé's blood bubbling in her lungs as she breathed, was for her friend alone.

The silence was broken by the roar of a speeder. Padmé spun, battle-ready, her blaster drawn up to her chest. But it was only Panaka. He climbed off the speeder and walked to them.

He glanced at the combination of flesh and bones that was Eirtaé and under his dark skin, his face paled.

"We must go now," he said, the words coming out with the stiffness of forced… necessary detachment. "Droid scouts have already found the fighter. They'll soon be here." His eyes softened. "You did well, Handmaiden."

Eirtaé choked an inaudible reply.

As if on cue, the distant whine of speeders filled the air.

"G-go…" Eirtaé whispered. Even now, she was protecting Padmé…

Padmé swallowed in a deep breath. Then another… then another… She couldn't do this again… She couldn't…

The strong hand of Panaka fell on Padmé's shoulder.

"My lady," he said softly. "Perhaps I should…"

Padmé snatched away from his hand, from his suggestion. They burned. Anger, that faithful companion, had returned to drive back that fleeting visit from hysteria.

"No," she hissed. "She is the Queen's handmaiden. It is her prerogative.

"And mine."

She heard the pause, then the soft thread of his boots as he moved away.

The whine sounded nearer.

Careful not to touch Eirtaé and cause her any more pain, Padmé bent low over her.

"Thank you."

Eirtaé's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh.

Padmé straightened. Blood had leached into the ground beneath Eirtaé. Padmé's left hand was red from pressing into the soil. When she used it to grip the blaster that was still in her right, it made a wet, slick sound.

She placed the weapon against the base of Eirtaé's skull and drew.

There was no sound.

Padmé hoped there was no pain.

"Go to peace, my friend," she whispered and with one brutal motion, she pulled out a lock from the dead woman's hair. She got to her feet and started back towards Panaka and the speeders.

He didn't say a word, and she ignored the pity in his eyes.

The droids did meet them, shooting at their departing speeders but the Naboo soldiers were too far ahead, and they lost them easily.

The renegade Queen tucked the blood-blonde lock into her combat vest and let the wind take her tears.

**_fin_**

_This story was written as a response to the __"Darth Padmé"__ challenge over at TFN. Feedback is more than welcome!_


	2. Beware of Gungans bearing gifts…

**Beware of Gungans bearing gifts…**

Padmé wasn't there when Cordé died. She was deep in the abandoned Gungan city of Luno Nass, fighting for her life as the disease burnt its fiery way through her body and out of her brain, leaving a wake of fever dreams in its path.

They told her that the first thing she said when she finally woke was: "Whatever happens to me, tell Amidala that I did not betray Naboo."

Dormé had been there when Cordé had died, quick slash of knife against throat, and she confirmed that those were the handmaiden's exact words.

Days after the recovery, when Padmé woke with her mouth dry and the first real appetite she had felt since just before the First Battle of Naboo, she did not remember this. But she believed it was true. She had to believe it otherwise it meant accepting that the strong urge she felt to press one hand on the back of her neck, and use the other to swipe a knife across her jugular did not come from the lingering shadow of her dead friend, but from herself.

When the dying remains of the Resistance met to discuss strategy, some noticed the embers in the Queen's gaze, the absence of the fire that had driven them all for so long. Padmé tried her best to hide it, knew how important it was for her bleeding world to hold onto hope for as long as possible, but deep down inside…

_(…after the first bitter defeat, failed attempts to get the Republic to hear the cries of the Naboo… after nearly six years of fighting, of moving from one makeshift base to another, of winning skirmishes only to suffer greater losses both within the crude army and the Naboo populace… after the shattering blow of the Gungan defection… after watching her friends die… after helping her friends die…)_

…she was beginning to realize that the Naboo might never win the war. Never again be free.

So the second time Sifo-Dyas came with his proposal, she listened to him.

It was a clandestine meeting. Padmé came alone, as he had asked – she could only assume that he did the same. It had been impossible to give Dormé, Rabé and Saché the slip so she had had to tell her handmaidens.

Dormé was already shaking her head before Padmé concluded. "I do not trust him, Padmé. What help can he give us an individual that he couldn't as an officer of the Republic?"

She was echoing Padmé's own thoughts. "Our choices are few," Padmé said. An inadequate reply and she could see it in her handmaidens's faces.

"It could be a trap, milady," said Saché. She was the youngest of the lot and after six years of fighting and sleeping side by side with the renegade Queen, she still held onto the honorific.

"I'm well aware of that," Padmé said, turning away from them to stare out of the bubble. Beyond the filmy divide that separated breathable air from the dark depths of the ocean, she could see the decaying debris of vessels littering the ocean floor. The clean waters of Naboo did double duty now as graveyard and factory refuse dump. The fearsome creatures of the depth had long since died.

Soon there would be nothing left to save…

"This is most unwise."

From the pale reflection of the bubble, Padmé watched Rabé step forward. It was hard to see, but Padmé guessed that the other's eyes were blazing. Anger came to the Southern girl almost as easily as it did to Padmé.

Padmé imagined that Rabé's eyes would still be glaring with defiance when she cut her own throat.

She turned back and studied each face one by one. Soft-spoken Saché who gunned down droid and Neimodians alike with a complete lack of expression that in the beginning had sent chills down Padmé's back. Sensible, pragmatic Dormé who had been the first to commend Padmé's plan to raze a Trade Federation factory and sacrifice the POW camp that been located in its centre as a shield. Rabé who had done for her blood sister, Yané what Padmé had once done for Eirtaé.

"Haven't you realized it by now?" Padmé asked, and her voice was tired. "We cannot win this war by ourselves."

The rendezvous point was an isolated spot in the swamp. Before she surfaced, Padmé used her metal detector to check for a droid ambush. There was none – nor was there any sight of anything when the water speeder broke surface, but that didn't mean anything. The only protection she had was the precautions she had taken in the event of being captured.

She was mooring the vessel when Sifo-Dyas stepped out from behind the long perennial that had hidden him from Padmé's sight.

"It took you long enough."

"This must be quick," Padmé said by way of greeting. "I did as you asked – my people will soon be searching for me."

"Fair enough. This won't take long." A sad expression filled his face. "You've changed a great deal since we last met, Queen Amidala."

Padmé bit back the quick retort, _So have you. _

Every time she met him, he changed in little ways. The first time had been six years ago, scant months after Padmé herself had been elected Queen, and just before the world as she knew it ended. Donned in worn tan and white robes, light-sabre at his belt, Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas's presence had managed to be both dignified and humble and Padmé had been filled with hope that this powerful man might help her help her people.

The second time had been two years ago. His greying beard had turned white. His robes were still the simple style of the Jedi, but his lightsabre had gone. There had been a glint in his eye and a spring in his step that had alarmed her even before he had told her his proposition.

Now, other than a vague sense of mysticism, there was no pretence of the Jedi on him. His robes were made of expensive cloth, a cloak that hung to his boots and only revealed a tiny glimpse of a chain of precious metal at his waist. That glint in his eye had ignited into a steady, burning fever.

_I though it was a mistake to trust him then, and I think it is a mistake to trust him now… _

"Do you?" Sifo-Dyas said softly and she started. He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes or quench the glare there. "I may no longer be part of the Order, but I am still part of the Force."

Six years ago, this would have unnerved her. Six years ago, she had not been tortured under Nute Gunray's orders and watched her father, mother and sister dragged out and shot one by one in her presence.

So all she said was, "If you can read my mind, then you already know I am willing to listen to your terms."

"Or perhaps," he went on, apparently determined to make a little speech of the matter, "it is the fact that I have left the Order that causes you to regard me with so much suspicion."

The anger that had made his home in Padmé's heart six years ago, and always lay dormant, patient, waiting to be roused, reared to life.

She did not know it, but when she spoke, her words came out in a low hiss, like a strangled growl, or the voice of a snake.

"I am suspicious of you because you clearly enjoy some favour from the Trade Federation to come and go from this planet as you please. I am suspicious of you because the proposal you made to me two years ago, seemed less like a way of freedom for my people and more like we were exchanging one slave master for another.

"I am _not_ suspicious of you because you are a Jedi. The Jedi and the Republic abandoned my people to suffer and die in the hands of the Trade Federation while the Senate discussed our invasion in a committee and your own Masters told me that you could not fight a war for me.

"Do not speak to me of the Jedi or the Republic. Naboo owes them no allegiance."

Her chest was heaving, her hands curled into fists on her side and she had walked right up to him without even realizing it.

She took a deep, shaky breath, and forced the red beast down, down, until it was a cold, latent lump, waiting to be released. Then she looked up at Sifo-Dyas.

She half-expected to see the former Jedi smile, but instead, he was gazing at her gravely.

"In regards to loyalties, my lady, you and I are in concord. Believe me when I say that I have no love for the Trade Federation. I have entry here simply because of my status, nothing more. I only seek to help the Naboo."

"At what price to my people?" Padmé spat. Did he think her a fool?

"What if I told you that the price wouldn't be from your people? The price would be from you?"

His words threw her.

"Before you said differently," she said, recovering quickly and suspiciously.

"Many things can change within two years," was the bland reply.

"What _changed_?"

"That is not your concern, my Lady. Your only concern is to the nature and extent of my help, and the deliverance of your people."

"- and the price that I will pay for these."

He smiled a little. "What price is too great for a Queen to buy her people their freedom?"

"What is this price?" She growled, irritated by his crypticness.

"That is another condition: You cannot know until the time to collect the payment."

Padmé spun on her heel and matched back to her speeder. She was already adrift when he spoke, and his voice carried over water.

"A hundred war frigates."

Without even glancing up, she turned on the engine.

"And a supply of another hundred when you need them. Each frigate fitted with state of the art military and tactical equipment, the latest weapons at your disposal."

Padmé's hand, posed on the lever that would convert the open-air vehicle to a submarine vessel, stalled.

"How," she hissed, "do you propose that an army of less than a score militia, and less than a hundred untrained civilians will man a hundred frigates and this state of the art equipment?"

For a moment, Padmé thought the glare in his eyes actually flared and dimmed as if a flame did burn in his head. Then the moment passed, and she decided that it was a trick of the light.

He paused before he spoke, giving each word weight, deliberate dramatization.

"Ten thousand clone soldiers, trained by their prototype, a Mandalorian warrior on the art of modern-day warfare."

Despite herself, Padmé gasped.

"Tell me, my Lady, do you think the price is too high?"

Padmé's mind was screaming with voices.

_We cannot trust him._ Dormé's.

_An elaborate trap, my lady, nothing more… _Saché's.

_What does he stand to gain from this? _Sabé's. _(Oh Sabé! )_

_What is the price? _Rabé's.

_Beware of Gungans bearing gifts, Padmé…_

For a moment, she almost did not recognize the voice. Then with a clap of grief, it came to her.

Ruwee Naberrie.

_(Nute Gunray's hiss of impatience as she watched her father's body fell to the ground…)_

And she had almost forgotten the sound of his voice.

Padmé's hand shifted from the transformer lever to the wheel and the Queen steered the vessel back to shore.

Sifo-Dyas smiled and his eyes burned. 

**_fin_**

_Thanks so much for the feedback, **Ann Jinn**. :) _


	3. The Man Who Would Be Emperor

**The Man Who Would Be Emperor**

_"So this is how democracy dies..."  
---__Padmé Amidala_

The Senate Dome was burning.

The crowd of protesters, Coruscanti of all species, from all works of life, circled their bonfire with gleeful wickedness. The flames echoed in their faces, their mad, mad eyes.

Sidious's own face was alight with satisfaction as he gazed down on the confusion from the office of the Chancellor. Slowly, decadently, he sipped from the glass in his hand, savored the bitter flavor of strong Kashyyyk wine before he swallowed. It was a slow, pleasant burn all the way to his stomach. He raised the glass to the crowd below and toasted his victory.

The victory of the Sith.

"It is fitting, is it not, that the Senate burns as democracy dies?"

The window-glass looked out into the smoke-filled night, and the hazy, ghostlike reflection of a face within its depths seemed to be haloed with fire.

The presence had crept up on him so subtly that he had hardly felt it. But now that he was aware of it, it was a wonder that the mixture of anger and bitterness had not burnt through his skin.

Irritation seeped into Sidious's pores like acid rain, displacing the happiness of before.

"How did you get in here?" He asked with a sigh, his voice sounding unnaturally hoarse in the large space.

The source of that pain and rage smiled and white teeth flashed in that angelic reflection. Fallen angel. "Wrong question, my Lord. What you should be asking is how you plan on getting out of here."

"You think you can kill me?" Sidious laughed as well, coughing a little. It gratified him a little that even now, his 'protégée' could still provide some entertainment. His weapon was a soothing weight on his hip and his wrists automatically flexed, snapping with lightning. The wine in his blood was adrenaline-hot, and his midichlorians all but leaping in agitation.

In the window, he saw the shoulders move in a slow shrug.

"Indeed, you have become more powerful than I ever anticipated but you will never be a match to me."

"I have not come to kill you, Lord Sidious-"

"What have you come for, then? To plea? To negotiate?" He sneered. "I have no more use for you."

"Yes, of course. You have only taken my trust and used it against my love, my values, my honor. You have only destroyed or despoiled everything I have ever cared for in this world. "

The voice was calm, too calm. Beneath that pale visage, Sidious could see the pain of betrayal. It tickled him as much as the wine burned him and he laughed again. "Your beloved has finally seen the light?" He mocked, choking in his good humor. "How sorry for you," he said, rasping and choked again, coughing badly. "D-did you c-come seeking c-comfort-"

"Like I said Lord Sidious, I have not come to kill you." And it was then he felt the malice. So strong, it could have choked a lesser being.

And the victory in that malice.

"I have come to watch you die."

It was then that Sidious turned around to gaze at the other. And after staring at the truth in his murderer's face, he followed the implacable gaze to the tall pitcher on his table.

Then to the glass in his hand.

Slow burn…

Reflexively, he flung the glass into the far corner of the room where it shattered with the sound of crystals. The faint noise barely drowned the sound of laughter.

His hand went to his throat, but it was too late. The fire had consumed his chest, his skin, his pores.

"No!"

"Surprised, my Lord? You think you are the only one who can embrace with one arm and kill with the other?"

Furious, he threw lightning at his tormentor but the fire went inwards and he scorched both within and without. He roared as the other laughed and jumped, thinking of strangulation, but he only fell to the ground.

"Mercy…" he gasped and hot blood spilled from his burning lips. "Mercy…"

A pair of boots stepped into his view, shifted, then his vision was filled with black leather... and suddenly that angel/demon face gazed upon him.

"I like the Empire you've made, Lord Palpatine. Perhaps I shall rule over it. Think of that as you die, old man. Think that in the end, I took from you the one thing you ever cared about. In the end, you made your kingdom for me."

The life left the would-be Emperor, the great Sith Lord, in degrees. Even after his lungs had turned to ashes and there was no more breath to scream, he still lived. Even after the blood had boiled and his bones turned black, he still lived. He would have taken his own life if he had the power but the poison did not work that way. Instead he watched his body die - his eyes were the last thing to burn - and his soul went mad before the end.

It was a slow, painful, shameful death and his killer reveled in it until the very last ember had faded from the hollow eye-sockets.

The dead man had believed that only he knew about the hidden escape from the Chancellor's office.

He had been mistaken about so many things.

The one who had once been Palpatine's protégée navigated the maze easily, always moving swiftly, quickly, dodging fragmenting columns, leaping over split floors, and reaching the waiting vessel not a moment too soon. The mechanism that had held back the inferno below had failed, and as the Chancellor's nemesis slid into the cockpit, she could see the flames beneath the docking bay.

Seconds after the craft was in the air, the Dome collapsed onto itself.

Flying towards what would soon be the Imperial Palace, Padmé thought about what that Dome had stood for. Thought of what it had contained. Thought of what it had cost her. Thought of all three evaporating like smoke.

And a smile graced the new Empress's face.

_"If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared."  
---Niccolo Machiavelli (1469 - 1527)_

_**fin**_

_Thanks so much for the feedback, Ann Jinn and TEXASTIFF. :) _


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